Alanna straddled the bench beside them. “Miss Shelley, can I talk to you?”
“Sure, Alanna. What’s up?”
“See that car across the street? Aunt Emilie told me the next time I saw that man to let her know, but she’s not here—Josie’s got karate tonight—and Uncle Nathan’s working late.”
Shelley looked at Ben, then back at her. “You’ve seen him before?”
“Lots of times. He’s always around, but Aunt Emilie’s never met him, and she wanted to know.”
“Okay, hon. You go on back and don’t worry about it, okay? I’ll call your uncle and see what he says.”
“Okay.” Alanna felt better as she returned to the shade tree, but she felt kind of bad, too. Ben had always been nice, and she figured Uncle Nathan would probably arrest him or something. But she couldn’t have just ignored him, because Aunt Emilie had said … With a big sigh, she dropped to the ground where facing Susan meant having her back to Ben.
If he wasn’t doing anything wrong, then telling wouldn’t matter, she told herself.
And if he was … well, then she’d done the right thing.
Ben was tapping his fingers on the steering wheel, wishing Sophy would hurry, when a once familiar sight appeared in his rearview mirror—the flashing lights atop a police car. Back home the lights were blue instead of the red, blue, and amber used in Bethlehem, but everything else was the same, including the dread tightening his gut.
One officer approached on the left side of the car, one on the right. They were both bigger than him, armed, and serious. The one on his side bent to speak through the open window. “Can I see your license and registration, please?”
Ben handed them over without comment. The officer glanced at them, then handed them to the other cop, who returned to the car with them.
“Can I ask what you’re doing here?”
“I’m waiting for a friend.” Sophy had asked him to drop her off at home, wait while she changed clothes, then give her a lift to the inn. Since he was headed that way anyway to meet Lynda, Melina, and Sebastian for dinner, he’d agreed.
“What is this friend’s name?”
“Sophy Jones.”
“And she supposedly lives around here?”
“I assume so, since she told me to let her out right here.”
“So you dropped her off.” When Ben nodded, the officer’s gaze narrowed. “But you don’t know which of these houses is hers.”
Ben shook his head. He hadn’t looked to see which house she’d gone into because the soccer team across the street had caught his attention.
The cop looked at his partner, then stepped back. “We’d like to ask you to come down to the police station with us, Mr. Foster.”
“For what? Sitting in my car on a public street?”
“We’re not placing you under arrest. Our sergeant would simply like to speak to you.”
Ben wanted to refuse. Going to the station would make him even later for dinner than he already was, and surely Sophy would return any minute now. But there was no sign of her, and he’d learned a few painful lessons when he was a kid about what happened when you didn’t do what a cop wanted. “Can I follow you in my car?”
“We’d prefer you come with us. Your car will be fine here.”
After rolling up the windows and locking the doors, Ben got out. He could feel the curious gazes from across the street—from Alanna and her friends—and the heat of embarrassment crept up his neck.
“Do you have any weapons on you?” the second cop asked.
“No.”
“For your safety and ours, do you mind if I search you?”
Again, he wanted to refuse—desperately—but he knew how they thought. If he had nothing to hide, why would he object? It was a line of reasoning that could be embraced only by someone who’d never found himself bent over the hood of a police car, subjected to the indignity of being patted down. If he were guilty of some crime, that was one thing, but all he’d done was sit in his car on a damned public street!
And watch Alanna.
“Sure,” he said flatly. “Go ahead.”
The pat-down was quick, thorough, and then he was put in the backseat of the patrol unit. Lights still flashing but no siren—thank God for small favors—the driver made a U-turn and headed downtown.
As the car drove past, Sophy stepped out from behind the massive oak trunk that had hidden her from Ben’s view. Once he and the officers were out of sight, everyone at the park slowly returned to their activities … except Alanna. For a long time, she stood motionless, staring down the street. Then Susan tapped her on the shoulder, grabbed her arm, and dragged her onto the field. She laughed, but her heart didn’t seem to be in it—kicked the ball, but without much care.
Leaning back against the tree, Sophy gave a heartfelt sigh.
Sitting at a table for four on the terrace outside the McBride Inn dining room, Lynda glanced at her watch for the tenth time in twenty minutes. Dinner tonight had been Melina’s suggestion—a way for the two of them to spend some time together. Even though she had extended her visit from Buffalo indefinitely, she’d been with Sebastian every minute he wasn’t working, which was all right, because every minute Lynda and Ben weren’t working, they were together, too. It had been incredible. The best time of Lynda’s life.
At least until he and Sebastian had stood them up.
Five minutes ago she’d called his apartment. There was no answer. Next Melina called Sebastian’s workshop. No answer there, either. They’d made small talk for a few minutes before falling silent.
The terrace was the loveliest place in all of Bethlehem in summer. Old faded brick laid in a herringbone pattern created the patio and supported pale green wicker tables and chairs. Snowy linen cloths covered the tables, with white-and-green cushions on the chairs. Chinese maples provided dappled shade, and flowers growing in beds scattered among the tables offered sweet fragrance. With tall candles in clear hurricane globes providing illumination, it was welcoming and romantic—the perfect place for a date.
Not so perfect for two women whose dates, apparently, had forgotten them.
“Well?” Lynda asked dryly. “How long do we wait before we accept that we’ve been stood up?”
“They’ll come. Something must have happened.” Melina sounded confident and lighthearted, but worry made her eyes darker than usual. “Did I mention that I’m going to marry Sebastian?”
Lynda’s eyes widened. “He asked you to marry him? After only four days?”
“Not yet. But he will. And when he does, I’m going to say yes.”
“Oh, man, he must be something.” Lynda hadn’t seen enough of the man to know. He wasn’t particularly handsome, in her opinion, or particularly charming. He was quiet, not outgoing, not flashy—in general, not Melina’s type. But surely there was more to him than she was seeing. Melina had obviously fallen hard for the guy, and Ben seemed to like and respect him. That was enough for Lynda.
“You gonna marry Ben?”
“Call me silly, but I think I’ll wait until I’m asked before I make a decision.” Truth was, if Ben asked, she would jump at the chance. It would be a dream come true. But she honestly didn’t think he had any intention of asking. Gut instinct said he might want her, care for her, even come to love her, but he wouldn’t marry her. And if thirteen years in business had taught her anything, it was to trust her instincts.
Melina reached for her cell phone. “Call Ben’s apartment again. I’ll try Sebastian.”
No answers.
“You don’t think something happened?”
Lynda smiled faintly. “To both of them? Ben was already home when he called me after work. He was taking Sophy home, and then he said he would be here.”
“Can you trust this Sophy?”
There was no denying that Sophy was pretty, but there was also no denying that she trusted Ben. He said he wasn’t interested in Sophy, and she believed him. “I trust her. What about Sebastian? What w
ere his plans?”
“He was supposed to take Chrissy to her grandmother’s house, then meet us here.”
“Can you trust this Chrissy?” Lynda asked with a smile.
Melina answered in all seriousness. “I don’t know. She’s a pretty little girl, sweet, smart. I don’t think she dislikes me, but I don’t think she likes me, either.”
“You know, making a successful marriage with a man who’s already a father can be difficult, to say the least.” It was advice Lynda had gotten from her mother, that she’d never paid much attention to … until now. Would Ben’s daughter make a difference in their lives? Would seeing her mother again after all these years affect them?
Six-thirty came and went. The waitress who’d been serving them wine and keeping Lynda’s water glass filled was way past sympathetic looks and knee-deep in pity for them when she slid into what should have been Ben’s chair. “Maybe there was some sort of mix-up.”
Lynda smiled tautly as Melina drained her wine. “I’m sure there was.”
“Would you like to go ahead and order? We have some wonderful specials this evening, and the desserts here are to die for.”
Somewhere in the last half hour, Lynda’s appetite had disappeared. She looked at Melina, who nodded, and at the same time they said, “Ice cream.” Lynda added, “The richer, the better.”
The waitress left, then returned in minutes with two ice cream, chocolate, and fresh fruit concoctions. To die for was right. If the dish had one calorie less than a thousand, Lynda would be surprised.
They both dove right in.
By seven o’clock, they’d paid their check and were halfway home when Melina suddenly spoke. “Take me by Sebastian’s house.”
Lynda wanted to protest that he lived five miles out in the country, that finding out he was home but not answering his phone wouldn’t help anything, but instead she turned at the next corner and followed Main Street out of town.
The Knight farm had been in the family for generations, though none of them worked the land now. Sebastian had turned the barn into a workshop for his carpentry business, which apparently was more successful than ever, since he’d taken on two new employees in Ben and Sophy.
When Lynda pulled into the driveway, Sebastian and Chrissy were playing catch in the front yard, with a big red setter running happily back and forth between them. Sebastian dropped the ball the instant he saw Melina, and a terrible look of guilt came across his face.
“Chrissy, go in the house,” he said, his voice carrying in the still evening, and she obediently trotted off.
“Bastard,” Melina murmured as she got out of the car. “You never intended to come to dinner tonight, did you?”
The guilt intensified. “No.”
“Why didn’t you say so?”
For a long time he simply stared at her, then he lowered his gaze to his left hand, stroking the gold band on his ring finger. His wedding ring. It hadn’t been there the other times Lynda had seen him, and she was fairly certain it hadn’t been there with Melina, either. “Not showing up seemed the easiest way to get the message across,” he replied, uneasily, ashamed, and Lynda whispered her own vehement, “Bastard.”
Melina stalked across the yard toward the house. When he caught her arm, she jerked free. “You touch me again, and I’ll shoot you, you son of a bitch.”
Lynda wondered if he knew Melina carried a .380 in the beaded purse worn bandolier-style across her chest, or if she’d told him she was a better shot than most men ever dreamed of being. Maybe, because he did back off.
Melina stormed inside the house, slamming the screen door behind her, then reappeared almost immediately with her overnight bag. She walked past Sebastian without so much as a glance, got in the Mercedes, and said tight-lipped, “Get me the hell out of here.”
“Melina …” The rest of Sebastian’s words were lost in a spray of gravel as Lynda accelerated out of the drive and onto the road back home.
Nearly an hour had passed since Ben had been escorted into a conference room at the police station, then left there alone with an officer stationed at the door. Once, one of the cops who’d brought him had offered him coffee and an apology for the delay, but when Ben had asked to use the phone, he’d been told, “Sorry, not yet.”
Finally, the door opened and two men walked in. One sat down across from him, and the other tossed a manila folder on the tabletop with enough force that the computer printouts inside spilled half out. Arrest records, Ben recognized.
The seated man introduced himself as Mitch Walker, chief of police. Under other circumstances, Ben would have asked if he was any relation to Susan. Under these circumstances, he wisely kept his mouth shut.
The second man, the one who’d tossed down the file, was Nathan Bishop.
“I’m sorry it’s taken us so long to get back to you,” Walker said. “Things got a little hectic. Is there anything you need?”
“You know, for a man who’s not under arrest, I certainly feel like I am,” Ben remarked. After a moment, he replied to the question. “A phone, and a telephone book. I was on my way to meet someone. If she hasn’t given up by now, I’d like to let her know I can’t make it.”
Walker left, then returned with a telephone and a directory. Ben called McBride Inn and asked for Lynda. The clerk put him on hold, giving him a moment to notice the assessing looks Walker and Bishop were giving him, then came back. “Ms. Barone’s not here, sir. The waitress said she and her friend left about twenty minutes ago.”
“Thanks.” He hung up and pushed the phone to the center of the table.
“You want to call Ms. Barone at home?” Walker asked.
“No.” He preferred to do his groveling without an audience. “Do I need a lawyer?”
“You’re not a suspect in anything. We’d just like to ask a few questions.”
“Yes, but if I talk to you now, and later you decide to hang something on me, you’ll have gotten a free interrogation to twist any way you choose.”
“Sounds like you’ve had some experience with the way the system works.”
He looked pointedly at the folder. “You know I have.”
Until then, Nathan Bishop had remained in the background, leaning against the wall behind the chief. Now he came forward, resting his palms on the table, bending menacingly close. “What’s your interest in Alanna Dalton?”
This wasn’t the way Ben had wanted the truth to come out. He’d thought he might meet privately with Emilie Bishop, or write her a letter to help pave the way. He’d briefly considered asking Miss Agatha to talk to her for him, or Lynda. He’d even thought he might let things drag along until somehow, miraculously, the information came out on its own. But thanks to his own carelessness, the choice had been taken from him, unless he wanted to be branded some sort of pervert. He tried once, though, to avoid the truth just a little longer. “It’s personal.”
The answer infuriated Bishop. His eyes grew darker and colder, his tone more ominous. “Like hell it is. Alanna is my niece. She’s like a daughter to me. No one has an interest in her that my wife and I don’t know about.”
The silence in the room was heavy, threatening. Ben wished he could run back time a bit and tell Sophy she’d have to find another ride, or maybe even go back to his first day in town, but all he could do was sit there with two armed men, one very angry, and tell the truth.
“She may be like a daughter to you, Sergeant Bishop,” he said quietly. “But she is a daughter to me. I’m Alanna’s father.”
Both men stared at him. Bishop started to speak, but couldn’t. Walker cleared his throat. “Do you have any proof?”
“Other than a baby picture in my car, no.” That, and the gut feeling he’d had since the first time he’d seen her. “But you can ask her mother. Berry’s word ought to count for something.”
“Are you listed on her birth certificate?” the chief asked.
“I don’t know. Berry and I broke up—” Ben took a deep breath, then started o
ver. “I broke up with her as soon as I found out she was pregnant. I haven’t seen her since, but she sent a birth announcement to my grandmother, with a picture of Alanna.”
Bishop reached for the phone, dialed a number, and, without a greeting, curtly asked, “Who’s listed as the father on Alanna’s birth certificate?”
There was a long silence, presumably while his wife went to check. Wouldn’t it be a hoot if she came back with a different name? If he saw the pictures as nearly identical because he wanted them to be? If Berry had lied to him all those years ago?
Then Bishop’s mouth tightened. “Why don’t you drop the kids off with the Winchesters and come down to the station?” he suggested. She must have asked why, because he coldly added, “Ben Foster is sitting across from me right now.”
After he hung up, the three of them sat in silence. Ben wondered whether Lynda was more angry or hurt, whether she would be embarrassed to hear he’d been rousted by the cops. Obsessing over her was easier than wondering what Alanna was going to think when she found out that the man she’d watched taken off by the cops—the man all her friends had seen hauled off—was her father. If Lynda was embarrassed, Alanna would be mortified. As if being a kid wasn’t tough enough, she’d have to deal with public humiliation, too.
He’d screwed up big-time. But what was new?
There was a knock at the door, then Emilie Dalton Bishop let herself in. She greeted her husband and Mitch before turning her attention to him. Though they were both blue-eyed blondes, she was about as different from Berry as two women could be. She was younger by a couple years, but had always been more mature. Where Berry was weak and fragile, Emilie damn near glowed with good health. While Berry had turned her back on her own children, Emilie had loved them like her own. The bad mother and the good mother.
And he and Nathan could be the bad father and the good father.
Emilie studied him for a moment, then offered her hand. “Berry used to have a few pictures of the two of you. You were both so young then.”
Getting Lucky Page 25